


Peaceful Rest

by GaHoolianGirl



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Deep Roads, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 07:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl
Summary: This was a man who was barely twenty and yet expected to carry the weight of a nation on his shoulders. Though he prided himself on his detachment from the job, Zevran could not help but feel sympathy for Cyriel, who was plagued by nightmares few could dream of but still soldiered on.





	Peaceful Rest

**Author's Note:**

> This features the same Cyriel from _Hold My Hand And Never Let Go_. He's a shy 20 ear old ginger with a bit of a stutter, and whom Zevran is always humbled by his innocence and willingness to sacrifice. This takes place in the middle of the Deep Roads quest.

“ _Mmmhn. Mmn. Mmmh_!”

The whimpers beside Zevran grew louder and louder until he could no longer pass them off as innocuous noises in Cyriel’s sleep; those were the signs of a nightmare, an experience he knew all too well. If he had been anyone besides an assassin, trained to sleep so lightly that wakefulness was always within arms reach, he most likely wouldn’t have even heard the small moans coming from his Dalish companion.

He turned in their shared bedroll, careful as always to keep his movement to a minimum, and tried to shake the young man awake.

“Warden?” No response, save for another noise, “Cyriel?”

Slowly, one eyelid lifted, and when followed by the other, revealed a set of bright blue eyes filled with tears.

“Z-Zevran...”

“I am here.”

Cyriel sniffed, and wiped his eyes, burying the side of his face into his bedroll, “I’m s-sorry I woke you...” his whisper muted was by the pillow.

“Do not apologize. Nightmares plague the very best of us,” he ran the back on his hand down Cyriel’s cheek, “and I assume Grey Wardens have plenty of subjects to be tortured over.”

He turned back to Zevran, a weak smile upon his face. His eyes still betrayed him, still shaking and shining with yet unshed tears.

“Care to share?” Zevran said, trying to keep his tone between light-hearted and concerned for his bedmate.

“It is not Grey Warden m-matters that are making me s-suffer,” Cyriel sniffled, looking up at the tent’s ceiling, the tears finally released from their confinement, “It’s the ceiling.”

“The ceiling?” He looked up at the rock above them, “You have slept in places with ceilings before. What is causing your problem now?”

Cyriel released a shaky sigh, “It’s not exactly that there _is_ a c-ceiling. It’s that the Deep Roads ceiling g-g-goes on...and on...it encompasses everything and it feel like you can never l-leave,” he paused for breath, turning his face away from Zevran’s, “It makes me long for the open skies of the forest...”

Zevran reached a hand out to brush the hairs that had matted to Cyriel’s forehead with sweat. After this movement, he rested a hand on his cheek, taking a moment to feel the slightly raised skin of the vasselin marks against his palm. These gestures seemed to calm Cyriel, whose breathing slowly returned to normal.

“I k-know you must want to sleep too, b-but could you maybe just talk for awhile? The sound of someone else’s v-voice helps me sleep.”

Reasoning to himself that it was wise for their leader to get plenty of sleep and that helping him made logical sense rather than he cared for the person besides him, Zevran began recounting a story he’d already told Cyriel, hoping his purposefully monotonous tone and the familiarity of the tale would help usher his bedmate to sleep.

His plan was met with success, and soon the only noise coming from Cyriel were the even breaths associated with slumber. Zevran ran a cautious hand through red hair, careful not to wake him again. This was a man who was barely twenty and yet expected to carry the weight of a nation on his shoulders. Though he prided himself on his detachment from the job, Zevran could not help but feel sympathy for this boy, who was plagued by nightmares few could dream of but still soldiered on.

 “Sleep well,” he said quietly, holding the man tighter against him. His every instinct said it was wrong to hold someone so dangerous so close, but he could quell those thoughts for just a single night to give them both some peaceful rest.•

**Author's Note:**

> I think Zevran also picked up on the fact that a lot of Cyriel's nightmares are the Blight-y kind, even if this time they weren't. If I write two more fics with Cyriel and Zev I might make it a series like I have with my Cousland.


End file.
